


Risking Stars

by wordsthatmademefall



Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, a few bad words here and there, hanktonio, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 05:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18439634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsthatmademefall/pseuds/wordsthatmademefall
Summary: His heart was pounding in his ears, the frigid air stinging his face. He was shaking, whether it was the cold, the adrenaline or the fear, he didn’t know. He didn’t care about any of that right now. The only thing he cared about was finding Antonio.*~*~*~*~*Hank Voight has absolute confidence in his team’s abilities. However, some things were not within their power to control, and that could mean life or death for any of them.EPILOGUE ADDED!





	1. Hank

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the tag "Non-consensual drug use , PTSD" and read with care :)
> 
> Inspired by, and for hardcore-flower over on tumblr <3

_“I’m sorry. They made me. I didn’t want to.”_

“I know. I know. Just stay with me, alright? I need you to tell me where you are,” He turned and ran back to his car, bringing his radio up, “Halstead, take care of things here. I’ll see you back at the district.”

_“Sarge?”_

“Do it,” he snapped, throwing the radio down on the seat and firing up the engine, but he had no idea _where to go,_ “Antonio, where are you?”

_“He wasn’t crazy. The edge of the world. That’s what he called it, right? Sounded stupid.”_

_Dammit,_ Hank thought, desperation seizing him, _I’m losing him,_ “Listen to me, okay? Can you hear me? I need you to try and focus. What do you see?”

_“Like you could... fall right off the Earth... lay in stars…”_

The growing slur in his words had Hank’s fingers tightening around his phone. _He’s delirious. There was no way he’d find-_

His breath caught in his throat as the words jarred something in his memory. Fighting through the panicked haze in his mind, he searched frantically for the answer. Where had he heard those exact words recently?

* * *

“Is he coming off something?”

“He is,” Antonio sighed as they watched their disheveled informant currently occupying the cage mutter a constant stream of words under his breath.

“What is he saying,” Hank asked his partner who had been the one watching and waiting for him to wake up.

“It’s nonsense. He keeps repeating ‘lay in the stars,’ ‘fall off the earth’ and asking us to take him back, ‘I want to go back,’” the detective crossed his arms and shrugged.

“Where did they find him?”

“Wandering Lakefront Trail in Oakland.”

* * *

“It’s him.”

“He was killed?” Hank squinted trying to see past the blaring cruiser lights.

Atwater led him past the patrol officers to a sheet-covered silhouette leaning against a concrete barrier closer to a group of trees at the edge of the lot, “Looks like an overdose.”

And, yeah, that seemed apparent based on the drug paraphernalia scattered around him. Kneeling down and pulling the sheet off to look at Jamie’s face closely, Hank asked, “No signs of foul play?”

“Have to check with the ME,” Kevin pulled the sheet off Jamie’s right arm and pointed at his wrist to reveal a bruise, “there was this, but nothing obvious.”

Hank huffed out a frustrated breath. This couldn’t have been a coincidence...

“Oh, Sarge,” Atwater interrupted his thoughts, “Officers Hart and Pope were the ones who found him tonight and last week. That’s why they alerted us. Get this, the first time they found him, he was barely two miles away from here.”

So his usual haunt was around here?

Hank was on his way back to his car when his UC-designated phone started to vibrate in his pocket.

**Call incoming: Frank**

“What the hell happened?”

_“Jamie?”_

“Yeah,” Hank sighed.

_“I need to talk to you.”_

The tone immediately had Hank on alert, “Where are you?”

_“Your 9 o’clock”_

His head snapped to the left and, _There._ The hooded figure stood there a second longer then turned around and walked towards the group of trees.

Hanging up the phone, Hank followed.

* * *

The image of Jamie’s body flashed to the front of Hank’s mind. _South Lakeshore, the construction lot._

His tires screeched as he sped towards the lake, “Okay. Okay, I know where you are. I’m on my way.”

He thought he could hear him mumble something over the line, but barely.

“Antonio?”

* * *

 

“When did you last hear from him?”

The other Sergeant paced to the window and turned back to them with a sigh, “He missed his check in three days ago, so the day before that.”

Lieutenant Beck considered Sergeant Montgomery for a moment before looking at Hank, “We need to get eyes back on Cuenca’s crew. Your unit worked this case before Narcotics took over.”

“That’s right.”

Narcotics had insisted _strongly_ on taking over the case, arguing that it was related to an ongoing investigation. That obviously hadn’t gotten anywhere since, considering that was nine months ago and Cuenca’s crew was still out there.

“You have an exceptional group of undercovers who can establish themselves quickly and work the crew. So I want you to get a guy in, find Detective Medrana, and help us get Cuenca.”

It was obvious Montgomery did _not_ want Intelligence stepping in on his case. But he’d had his chance. And orders were orders.

Voight had no doubt his unit could do it.

“We’ll get it done.”

* * *

“Something’s got him on edge. He’s constantly checking his phone, he’s second-guessing his decisions, snapping at his guys,” If he didn’t know his detective so well, he wouldn’t have been able to pick up the nerves past the displeasure in his voice.

“Anything on Medrana?” He hoped Antonio had a positive answer for Beck, because that meant they could make a move now.

“Haven’t seen him or heard of him,” Based on Antonio’s expression, he suspected nothing good was going to come of that. “There’s a guy in the crew – Santos – I think I could get him to talk to me, find out what might be going on and what happened to Medrana.”

“They planning anything soon?”

“Yeah. They’re meeting a buyer tomorrow night at Rickman’s Auto. Supposed to unload a few kilos of H.” Must have been drugs from the rip they pulled while Medrana was still under.

“We could bring them in. Lean on them,” Hank suggested to Beck and Montgomery, who had been quiet the whole meeting. He did look like he wanted to interject a few times, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

Beck looked to Hank, “We’ll take ‘em at the buy,” looking to Antonio, he told him, “If you can, try to find out what happened to Medrana.”

Inside, Hank protested: if they were going to drag them all in soon, he didn’t want Antonio calling unnecessary attention to himself. But it would also be easier to get the answers before they had to resort to interrogation, which could take too long.

Lt. Beck and Sgt. Montgomery left – Montgomery without a word or look at either Hank or Antonio.

Antonio put his back to the railing and brought his hands to face, blowing air into them. They were red, and Hank suddenly remembered what he had meant to grab this morning before work.

Guiltily, he took Antonio’s hands in his own and tried to help him warm them, “Sorry, I forgot to bring them.”

“It’s fine.” Antonio said with a small chuckle, lowering them and taking hold of Hank’s hands himself.

He squeezed the detective’s hands lightly; he seemed drained, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he didn’t sound like it, “But the sooner we get this over with, the better. Cuenca makes me nervous. He’s too unpredictable. His crew is feeling it, too.”

“You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.” He didn’t want Antonio to feel obligated, especially since this was a delicate situation already and Cuenca was making him feel uneasy.

“No, I can do this.”

Hank smiled; that was never in question, “I know you can. I’m saying you don’t have to.”

“We’re close. I just have to wait him out until tomorrow.”

He nodded. Antonio knew what he was doing.

“I should go,” Antonio sighed, and Hank wanted to tell him to stay a while longer. He could tell the detective wanted to leave just as much as Hank wanted him to go, which was not at all. If Antonio was here, at least Hank knew he was okay. But duty called.

He stroked Antonio’s cheek with his thumb and rested his hand against the man’s neck.

“Be careful.” _Please._

“I will.”

* * *

 

“Antonio!”

He’d barely parked his car before he jumped out and _ran,_ shining his flashlight in every direction, his phone still connected, sitting in his pocket on ‘speaker’ despite no sound coming from it for a while now.

His heart was pounding in his ears, the frigid air stinging his face. He was shaking, whether it was the cold, the adrenaline or the _fear,_ he didn’t know. He didn’t care about any of that right now. The only thing he cared about was finding Antonio.

“Antonio!”

He ripped through the dirt-covered **Crime Scene** tape still strung around, running to the middle, where just a day ago, he had stood over the body of Jamie Broyles.

_Where was he?_

He turned to his right, and looked out into the darkness, into nothing but black. And _stars._

The beam from his flashlight swept the ground as he walked away from the lights shining off the street, left and right, and-

His heart stuttered.

“Antonio!”

The scene in front of him would haunt him for a long time: Antonio laid on the ground, phone laying next to his head, still connected to his; a small, empty syringe was next to him; He had a bruised cut on his cheekbone, his eyes were closed, and he was too _still._

He dropped down to his knees, hands going to Antonio’s shoulders - his arms were bare, cold - and giving him a shake, “Hey! Can you hear me?”

Putting two fingers to his neck he felt for a pulse as he lifted the detective’s eyelid. He felt the breath get knocked out of his lungs when he saw the pinpoint pupils.

His breathing was too slow.

 _Shit._ He fished the _Narcan_ out of his vest, rubbing Antonio’s chest, using his teeth to rip open the package.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, putting his hand at the back of his partner’s neck to tilt his head back. He put the nozzle in Antonio’s nose and pressed the plunger. Dropping the empty spray on the ground, he rubbed his chest again.

He dropped down, pinching Antonio’s nose and pressing his mouth against his, to give him a breath.

* * *

 

“This is over. I’m pulling him out, today.”

He didn’t wait, cutting right to the chase once both men walked into the office. Lt. Beck was stunned into silence.

Meanwhile, Sgt. Montgomery’s face was blank, and he merely said, “I told you this was a waste of time. You should have let me handle it.”

This guy was really getting on his nerves; he had been less than helpful this entire operation and had a serious attitude problem. Hank had to resist the urge to give him a piece of his mind.

“First, Cuenca cancels the sale, then you find your informant dead. How do you know your guy is still on the right side?”

Silence rang through the office and Hank swore the temperature dropped as the accusation hung in the air.

“Excuse me?” He dared Montgomery to repeat that.

Lt. Beck just waved them both off, “Enough,” and turned his attention back to Hank, “What’s your plan?”

He glared at the sergeant a moment longer before turning to his superior, “Detective Dawson tells me the crew doesn’t know what happened to Medrana. The only way we’ll find him, is by bringing in Cuenca. Once I get confirmation from Detective Dawson on Cuenca’s location, we’re going to move in, round them all up.”

“Alright,” Hank didn’t miss the flash of irritation on the other sergeant’s face at Beck’s agreement.

An urgent knock sounded at the door.

“What?” Hank snapped, prompting Jay to pop his head in.

“We lost his wire.”

* * *

 

“Open your eyes, come on,” he pleaded.

After the fourth assisted breath, he pulled out another package of _Narcan_ , holding it in his fist, praying he wouldn’t have to use it.

He willed himself to wait just a little longer, but the seconds were ticking by too slowly.

_Wait, was that…_

Holding his breath he watched carefully until he saw it again: Antonio sucked in a breath, and another and _finally_ his eyes fluttered open.

“Jesus,” He quickly pulled Antonio up to a sitting position and held him, but not too tightly, too aware of how much the other man needed to breathe “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“Hank?” he mumbled against Hank’s shoulder, dazed.

He smoothed his hand down Antonio’s hair, “Yeah. I’m here.”

He couldn’t believe it, had to hold Antonio to reassure himself that, yes, he was alive.

Noticing that Antonio was starting to shiver, he rubbed his hands down the man’s arms and back, trying to warm him.

“Come on, you’re freezing,” he pressed a kiss to the man’s temple, his heart finally calming, “We need to get to the car.”

Pulling back to look at Antonio’s face, he lifted his chin. His eyes were clear, but struggling to stay present, he was still weak, listing to the side.

Trying to keep him steady, he undid his vest and jacket, draping the latter over the other man’s shoulders. He put his vest back on and put a hand against Antonio’s cheek.

“Come on.”

He pulled Antonio to his feet, steadying him when he stumbled.

They made their way back to the car, Hank supporting Antonio’s weight more and more as they got closer.

During the drive, with the heaters all the way up, he kept looking over to Antonio, who was leaning against the window. The unopened package of _Narcan_ sat heavily in his pocket.

When they got to Hank’s house, Antonio was too tired to make it upstairs, so Hank laid him carefully on the couch. As he was grabbing the first aid kit, his phone began to ring.

**Call incoming: Kim Burgess**

_Right, the team._

“Yeah?”

_“Sarge, are you okay?”_

His sudden exit during a raid must have raised a red flag, “Yeah, I’m fine. What’s going on?”

_“We have Cuenca and his crew in custody. But Sergeant, are you coming in? There’s something you should hear.”_

He lowered his phone with a sigh, squatting down next to Antonio and smoothing his hair back. He was dozing, and thankfully not showing any signs of overdose again. _Yet._ Hank couldn’t leave him. He needed to be watched.

_“Sergeant Voight?”_

Making up his mind, he brought the phone back up to his ear, “Okay, but Kim, I need you to do something for me.”

_“Okay. What’s going on?”_

“I found Antonio. I’ll explain when you get here.”

_“Where?”_

“My place.”

_“I’m on my way.”_

* * *

“Where is he?”

Adam and Jay jumped to their feet at his entrance.

“Interrogation room.”

He didn’t stop to acknowledge any of his officers and turned to the hall, clenching his fists in rage as he burst into the room, making Cuenca jump.

Cuenca looked to Jay - hovering in the doorway - in alarm as Hank unlocked the handcuffs fixing him to the rail, and pulled him roughly to his feet.

He strode past Jay and Adam, who continued to follow him, ignored Hailey and Kevin watching from the end of the hall, and pushed the stumbling offender ahead of him down to the rollup.

Once they were downstairs, he grabbed the man’s shoulder, spinning him so they were face to face, and sent a right hook sailing into his jaw.

Cuenca hit the ground _hard._ Hank didn’t even take satisfaction from seeing the fear flash across the man’s face. He was so full of fury and hatred, he couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but raining down blows on the other man.

Only when Jay and Adam hauled him off of Cuenca did a sense of his surroundings come back to him.

Jay stared at him for a second before dropping down to check on the other man, who was groaning in pain. Hank fought to get his breathing under control, but the rage was still flaring in him wildly.

When Cuenca turned onto his side to spit out blood, Hank’s rage exploded again, but since he was being held back by Adam, he couldn’t launch himself at the other man to finish what he started.

“You son of a bitch!” He roared, “You shot him full of drugs and left him to die. I’m going to kill you. You hear me?” Jay looked at him in alarm and he felt Ruzek freeze at his side once the words left his mouth, but he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, “You’re dead. You’re going to wish you’d never laid a finger on him.”

“Your _rat_ ,” Cuenca growled, glaring at him angrily, “deserved to die. You all deserve to die. You’re hypocrites. You strut around, a badge on your hip, acting like you’re better than all of us, like your _protecting_ and _serving,_ but the truth is, you’re the worst ones. Police are the real criminals. You deceive, you throw us in cages, _beat us,_ kill us, and do it all pretending you’re on the side of good. But you all are so corrupt, the lines are so blurred, you can’t even recognize the rats on your own side.

“Yeah, I killed your guys,” Cuenca sneered, “and I’d kill you all if I could because that’s what you deserve.”

Hank tried to dislodge Adam’s hold on him, but he held tight. Jay hauled Cuenca up and pushed him to the cage, locking him in.

Clenching his jaw, he took a deep breath to calm himself as Jay and Adam looked to him for direction.

“Boss,” Adam whispered, voice choked, “that’s what we wanted to tell you. He claims he’s been working with someone in the CPD. He wants to make a deal.”

The last thing Hank wanted to do was come to any agreement with this piece of trash. But the more rational part of him realized that someone in the CPD was responsible for Antonio’s near-death, and possibly, the death of Detective Medrana.

“The name of your contact in the CPD, and Detective Medrana’s location,” Hank demanded.

* * *

“Get Lieutenant Beck here. _Now._ ” Hank snarled at Jay as they walked into the bullpen.

“Sarge,” Jay stopped him before he made it into his office, “What he said… what you said about Antonio, is he…?”

He looked around, everyone - including Trudy who had come down to the rollup sometime in the midst of all the yelling - watching him carefully.

He nodded, sadly, “I found him, drugged and dumped where we found Jamie Broyles’ body. He’s alive. Kim’s with him now.”

The shock and anger he could see on their faces was only a fraction of what he was feeling, _that_ , he could promise.

It was time to end this.

Montgomery was going to get what was coming for him.

 


	2. Antonio

“You want to get out of here? Introduce me to Enrique Cuenca.”

Broyles looked at him in disbelief, eyes flitting to Hank’s, who met his eyes squarely, “Really? That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

* * *

“Tomas.” 

Antonio pushed off the wall he was leaning against at Santos’ approach. 

“Boss wants us to dump the truck,” Santos tossed a bag to him and continued walking without waiting for a response or for Antonio to follow.

They loaded the truck and car and drove out separately. The silence they had been in lasted through torching the truck and a few minutes into their drive back. Out of the four guys in Cuenca’s crew, Antonio preferred Santos’ company to the others’ so far. He was older, laid back, didn’t ask too many questions and kept to himself for the most part. While he wasn’t immediately extending a hand in friendship, at least he wasn’t an outright dick. 

“You got family, Tomas?”

Antonio looked over at Santos, who didn’t take his eyes off the road in front of him, “A son.”

“Mom’s not in the picture?”

“We separated a few years back.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Was for the best, really.”

“So you’re doing this for your son?” 

“Yeah,” Antonio answered, wondering where the other man was going with this, “He’s the best thing I’ve got going on in my life right now.”

“I have a daughter. Her husband died, left behind her and their newborn son,” Antonio’s heart broke for Santos and his family. This man was trying to help his family. And this was always the hardest part about working undercover, “I do it for them.”

It sounded like Santos was trying to remind himself more than he was trying to tell Antonio.

When they got back, an angry Cuenca stormed off to his car, phone in his hand, muttering something under his breath.

“What’s up with him,” Antonio wondered aloud.

“How about you leave him to his business,” Santos snapped.

Antonio looked over at the man, but his eyes were still locked on where Cuenca had disappeared. He seemed troubled by their boss’ behavior too, though.

Santos caught Antonio watching him and shook his head with a muttered, “Your guess is as good as mine, anyway.”

* * *

“Something’s got him on edge,” Antonio explained to his three superior officers, “He’s constantly checking his phone, he’s second-guessing his decisions, snapping at his guys.” 

“Anything on Medrana?”

Antonio shook his head, gravely, “Haven’t seen him or heard of him. There’s a guy in the crew - Santos - I think I could get him to talk to me, find out what might be going on and what happened to Medrana.” 

“They planning anything soon?” 

“Yeah,” Antonio thought he caught a flash of annoyance on Sergeant Montgomery’s face - it wasn’t Antonio’s fault he was doing the man’s job for him - as he answered Lt. Beck, “They’re meeting a buyer tomorrow night at Rickman’s Auto. Supposed to unload a few kilos of H.”

“We could bring them in,” his own sergeant suggested, “lean on them.”

As they waited for Lt. Beck to make a choice, Antonio noticed Montgomery rolling back and forth on his feet, cold maybe, or impatient, or both.

“We’ll take ‘em at the buy,” Beck decided. He looked at Antonio, “If you can, try to find out what happened to Medrana.”

He would, because something told him that they may not be able to force the answers from Cuenca and his crew. 

He and Hank stayed back while Lt. Beck and Sgt. Montgomery left. When they were alone, Antonio leaned back against the railing and brought his hands up to blow warm air against his fingers. Hank stepped closer and reached up to cover Antonio’s hands with his own gloved ones.

“Sorry, I forgot to bring them.” 

Antonio chuckled, bringing his hands down and turning them to grasp Hank’s, “It’s fine.” 

Hank squeezed his hands lightly, “Are you okay?” 

Antonio let out a sharp breath, “Yeah, I’m good. But the sooner we get this over with, the better,” Hank’s concerned gaze made him want to brush off his own unease, but he wasn’t going to lie to his partner, “Cuenca makes me nervous. He’s too unpredictable. His crew is feeling it, too.”

Hank studied him closely before he spoke, quietly, “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.”

“No, I can do this.” 

The older man shook his head, smiling, “I know you can. I’m saying you don’t  _ have to.” _

And that was the greatest reassurance, knowing this man had no doubts in his capabilities and would always have his back.

“We’re close. I just have to wait him out until tomorrow.” 

Hank nodded, easily accepting his answer. And the confidence Hank held for him, shown plainly on his face, made him love the man even more.

“I should go,” Antonio sighed. He didn’t make any move to leave though, betraying how much he’d rather stay here, with Hank.

He brought a hand up to cover Hank’s, which was now resting against his neck. 

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

* * *

“Forget it, the buy is cancelled.”

Antonio looked up as Cuenca walked into the room. He was stuffing his phone into his pocket and he looked angry. 

Internally, he cursed. Intelligence was waiting to grab them at that buy. 

“Boss, what’s going on?” one of the guys, V, asked,

Cuenca didn’t answer, instead he ordered, “Find Jamie. I want to talk to him. Now.”

He left without another word, his crew looking at each other in confusion.

“Well, you heard the man,” Pama shrugged, pulling out his phone and dialling Jamie.

When there was no answer on the third call, Pama sighed, “He’s probably tweaking, passed out in his favorite spot.”

“I’ll get him. Nick,” Santos nodded at Antonio, “you’re with me.”

They were driving when Antonio finally asked, “Is he always like this?”

Santos let out a long breath, “No. He’s only been like this since…” he paused as if considering whether or not he should be saying this, but continued, “since Fabella, the guy who’s spot you filled.”

_ Medrana.  _ Antonio’s heart pumped faster when he realized he could finally figure out what happened to his fellow detective. “What happened to him?”

Santos must have been really bothered, because he just came out with it, “All I know is Enrique comes back from somewhere, and he’s furious. He pulls Fabella out, saying he needed his help, has something for him to take care of. Then, Enrique comes back, and Fabella never did.”

“Did he kill him?” Antonio asks quietly.

“I don’t know.” 

They find Jamie at the lake, and bring him back to Cuenca. Antonio has a bad feeling about it all, but his presence is demanded elsewhere, and by the time he’s back, Jamie and Cuenca are gone again. 

* * *

The day after Jamie’s death, Antonio’s terribly on edge. He’s hoping he’s not too obvious about it. Cuenca’s been out all morning, and none of the guys know what’s going on either.

Antonio’s phone sits like a two-ton weight in his pocket. He just needs to let Hank know when Cuenca arrives and they can make their move.  _ But the man isn’t here _ .

They’re scattered around, doing their own things, when Cuenca bursts through the door, and he is  _ livid.  _

“Boss?” V calls, alarmed. And he’s not the only one. Everyone is shocked by his abrupt behavior, Antonio more so when he realizes Cuenca is headed straight for him. 

So he doesn’t have time to react to the punch thrown at his face. 

He can feel the skin of his cheek split with the hit, and then he’s on the ground. The guys are frozen in their spots as Cuenca searches his pockets and grabs his phone, only to smash it under his boot. He pats him down, and when he’s satisfied Antonio doesn’t have anything else on him, pulls him off the ground by his collar just to punch him in the face again. 

“Police scum!” the man yells furiously, punctuating each word with a kick to Antonio’s midsection. 

He can’t hear anything over his own gasps for breath, but he’s pulled to his feet, and then he’s deposited in the corner, and tied to a pipe, his mouth covered with a strip of duct tape. 

_ Dammit. Dammit. _

* * *

As it got dark out, Santos and Pama marched him to the car behind Cuenca, and they drove to a familiar construction lot. He’s dragged past the  **Crime Scene** tape, and to the edge of the lot, where they finally stop. 

Cuenca’s back is turned when he feels two small items dropped into his pocket on his right side. He looked over, and Santos gave him a small nod, his face determined. When Cuenca turned around, Antonio noted the gloves as he threw a pair of zip ties to Pama. 

“Re-tie his hands behind his back.”

The order is barely finished when he is kicked in the back of the knees, and he drops to the ground. 

His hands are freed, only to be forced behind his back and tied up again. 

Cuenca reached into his pocket, and Antonio’s eyes widened at the sight of a small syringe. 

He motioned for Pama and Santos to leave, and they did, Santos hesitating a split-second.

“Police,” Cuenca spat, uncapping the needle, “Well, your death will look no more noble than those you stuff into cages.” 

Fear tore at his insides as Cuenca grabbed his hair. He fought his grip hard, but it was useless, as Cuenca easily jabbed the needle into his shoulder and pushed the liquid out of the syringe. 

His head wrenched forward, Antonio was blindsided by the knee that collided with his head, and collapsed to the ground, stunned. Cuenca dropped the needle to the ground, and walked away. 

He tried hard to get his bearings, but he was seeing stars. 

When he was finally able to think, he felt the panic coming back full force. Knowing he had to keep calm and call for help, he took a few steadying breaths, then rolled to his side, moving his hands to his pocket and trying to slide the items out.  

With some difficulty, he slipped what turned out to be his knife and a cell phone out of his pocket. He exposed the blade and started cutting at the zip ties. It was while he was doing so, however, that he started to feel it. It was like a cord snapped, leaving him floating in a vacuum. The ache in his ribs, in his head disappeared. A wave of calm washed over him, his hands slipping, and as he tried to keep his head on task he could feel the knife slip a few times and slide against his wrists.

When the ties snapped off, and he reached for the phone, his limbs were starting to get heavy. He struggled to keep his eyes open as he typed out the numbers and called. 

Hank’s voice. 

His chest felt heavy, and he rolled to his back, eyes taking in the dark sky above him.

The stars above him were comforting, a beauty, like Jamie said. No wonder Jamie liked it out here.

* * *

He was so tired, but he forced himself to open his eyes. He was pulled against something, someone, warm and solid. Alarm rang dully in his head, until he recognized the voice in his ear. 

“Hank?” What was going on? His partner sounded distressed. Where were they? It was pitch dark.

“Yeah, I’m here.” He couldn’t keep up with what was going on. He couldn’t even catch up.

He could feel himself shaking. His joints were stiff, made more apparent when he was pulled to his feet, and could barely stand on his own two legs. 

Stumbling along as Hank led him to the car, he was glad when he finally leaned into the seat, exhaustion hitting him. 

The warm air felt good, so he leaned into its path, and everything faded away, until Hank leaned him back against the chair, and a few seconds later, pulled him out of the car and then helped him lay couch.

* * *

“Oh god. Antonio?” Kim’s scared face was above his. She turned around quickly and he heard her place something light on the table.

The fog in his mind was hard to fight through. Where was he?

He tried to move, but he was forced to stop when his muscles protested, painfully. The movement also brought a pounding in his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. 

“Can you drink this?”

Opening his eyes a bit, he saw the cup in Kim’s hand, a straw poking out in his direction. And, his dry throat and thirst made itself apparent then. 

She helped him drink and let him settle back against the pillow. He closed his eyes, and tried to relax past the ache in his bones.

Sometime later, he didn’t know how long, he heard Hank’s voice again. 

Cracking open his eyes, he looked around the dark room, but didn’t see anyone.

A few words were slipping through, “overdosed, hospital, Montgomery, Internal Affairs…” 

Then he heard the door open and close, and Hank sigh as he walked into the living room. He followed the other man’s progress as he started to clean up the first aid kit on the coffee table. When the other man paused and picked up a familiar white spray, Antonio was alarmed to see Hank’s knuckles were bruised and discolored. 

“Hey,” he wasn’t even sure he’d actually spoken aloud, but Hank turned, his eyes softening as he smiled.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Hank put the tube down and squatted down close to Antonio’s head. 

He let out a sigh as Hank ran a hand through his hair, feeling his headache melt away a bit at the touch. His eyes fell closed at the light kiss Hank pressed to his lips.

“How’re you feeling?” the older man murmured, resting his fingers against Antonio’s cheek.  

“Tired,” he breathed, “achy.”

Remembering the bruised knuckles, he reached a hand up to Hank’s and pulled it down to look, “What happened?” He already had an idea though. 

Hank stayed silent, teeth grinding and eyes flashing in anger, before he closed his eyes to take a steadying breath.

Antonio swept his lips over the joints and dropped his hand only to reach up and put a hand to Hank’s cheek. To his surprise, when Hank opened his eyes, there were tears threatening to fall. His chest tightened at the sight, and acted on instinct. Lightly, he tugged Hank forward, pushing up to his elbow despite his protesting muscles, to rest his forehead against his.

“It’s okay. We’re okay.” 

Hank nodded shakily, wrapping his arms around Antonio firmly and resting his head against the crook of his neck. 


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! I added an epilogue. I just had to add a bit more Hanktonio, because I can't get enough of them. 
> 
> Plus, I like that gray area between absolute good and absolute evil so...

_ Open your eyes. Come on.  _ Please.

_ Leaning down, he gives Antonio another breath, and brings a hand up to his partner’s cheek as he pulls away.  _

_ His fingers travel down to the pulse point on his neck, and as they linger, he chokes on his own breath. _

Nothing.

_ No beat, no flutter,  _ no pulse.

Don’t do this, please. 

_ His hands go to Antonio’s chest, fingers interlace, and he starts compressions.  _

_ He feels the panic mounting as he reaches the end of the first set and ducks down quickly to once again help push air into his lungs.  _

_ When there is no response and he starts the next set, he feels his heart trying to pound out of his chest, his breath is coming out in gasps. _

_ No no no… _

He gasped awake, eyes flying open. He laid still, trying to catch his breath, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, and brought a shaking hand up to his chest.

When his heart stopped hammering, and he could control his breath, he became aware of a chill on his left, and looked to the other side of the bed. He felt panic trying to reignite when he saw that the space was empty. 

Forcing himself to stay calm, he moved to get out of bed and  _ walk _ to the stairs.

He saw a dim light filtering out from the kitchen, and took a breath, making his way over. What he saw inside hit him with a pang of sadness. 

Antonio looked exhausted. He was slumped over the table, his head in his hand and his eyes covered. A glass of water sat in front of him, still full. 

“Antonio” He called quietly so as not to startle the man. 

Yet, he still jumped a bit, looking over to Hank quickly at his name.

“Are you okay?” 

The way Antonio looked down at the question pretty much answered for him. So, with a quiet sigh, Hank walked over to the table, pulling a chair a little closer to Antonio’s, without crowding him. 

When he sat down, laid a hand over his - they were cold, - and there was still no response, Hank tried again, “Did you get any sleep?”

Antonio shrugged, and Hank was at a loss. He wanted to help, but where to start?

“Talk to me, please?”

Still the other man stayed quiet, this time, dropping his head down to the table, hiding his mouth behind his crossed arm. 

Hank waited, rubbing small circles into Antonio’s hand.

With a sniff, Antonio finally spoke after a few moments, his voice barely a whisper, “I can’t,” he blew out a breath, “When I start to drift off… I panic. And then, I can’t move, and it’s like a weight is sitting there, right on my chest, and I can’t breathe.” 

His voice broke at that last part, and so did Hank’s heart. Not only that, but so did the dam keeping back his anger - at himself, at the men responsible for making Antonio feel this way, at this whole situation. 

He reigned in that anger though, and focused on the man he loved who was hurting. 

He pulled himself closer to Antonio, and Antonio leaned right into him. Hank wrapped his arms around him, pressing his lips to Antonio’s head as he rested against Hank’s shoulder. 

Inside, Hank was berating himself for not seeing it. Even if he had been busy the past three days with wrapping up the case and the investigation with Internal Affairs, he should have seen that Antonio wasn’t sleeping these past two nights. Not to mention that first restless night when he had gotten him back. 

Antonio had told him he didn’t clearly remember that night. The time from Cuenca dragging him to the lake until Hank had come home with bruised knuckles - and still some after -  was veiled in a heavy fog to him, with only a flash of something here and there. But Hank should have known that even though Antonio couldn’t remember everything, it was possible he’d still feel the effects of what he’d gone through. 

“God, I’m sorry,” Antonio croaked, wiping his face, and that tore Hank up inside.

“Hey, no,” he soothed, placing his hand on Antonio’s cheek to turn his face to his own, “don't do that. You have nothing to apologize for,” he said the words firmly, while trying to be as gentle as possible. 

He held Antonio’s gaze in his, until, finally, Antonio nodded. Hank pulled him in for a hug, as he thought about his next words. 

“Listen,” he began, pulling back and stroking Antonio’s cheek, “I want you to consider talking to someone. Dr. Charles,” he added, remembering how the man had helped Erin through her rough patch years ago. They could trust him.

To Hank’s concern, Antonio dropped his eyes and turned his head away.

“Antonio?”

“I’m sorry I let this happen again.”

He was actually taken aback for a second, and tried to backtrack quickly, and figure out what had just happened.

_ ‘Again?’ What…  _

_ ‘I’m sorry. They made me. I didn’t want to.’ _

Hank’s eyes widened. If Antonio also remembered when Erin had begun meeting with the psychiatrist, he may believe Hank thought of Dr. Charles for exactly the wrong reason. 

“No,” he jumped in quickly, hoping to put a stop whatever the man was thinking, “Antonio, look at me, please,” he requested, taking his hand, “this is not the same. You had  _ no control  _ over this, okay?”  _ Please look at me.  _

As if hearing Hank’s silent plea, Antonio did look at him.

“I just want you to talk to him so you can  _ rest _ , alright?”

At Antonio’s short nod, he gave him a smile and pulled him in for a kiss, “I love you.”

Antonio’s small answering smile, and “I love you, too,” made his heart swell and true peace wash through him for the first time that night.

* * *

 

“So what should I call you?”

Antonio squirmed a bit in his seat, his gaze flickering away guiltily, “Antonio.”

Santos nodded, looking consideringly at Antonio in silence for a few moments, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

At this Antonio smiled softly, “Thanks to you.” He was glad that it was one of the things he could remember, that Santos helped him, even though Cuenca had been there, even though Antonio had lied.

Santos’ face fell and he swallowed hard, “None of that should have happened. Enrique shouldn’t have done that. I  _ never  _ should have let myself be involved in  _ that.” _

“No. You’re right,” Antonio agreed, “But in the end, you did what was right. If it wasn’t for your help, I’d be dead in the dirt, leaving behind my loved ones.

He waited until Santos met his eyes before adding, “I won’t forget that.

“I’ll put in a good word for you with the State’s Attorney, do whatever I can to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Antonio smiled at Santos’ surprised stare. He meant it all. Not to mention, he remembered Santos telling him about his family: the reason he worked in Cuenca’s ripping crew.

“Thank you,” Santos managed quietly.

“Also, if your daughter and grandson need anything, you let her know they can come to me, okay?” 

Antonio made to get up, but Santos’ spoke again, “I can’t do that.”

Confused, Antonio waited for him to elaborate.

“She came to see me. She was angry, said she wanted nothing to do with me, with a criminal,” Santos shook his head, “I did it all for them, but now I’ve just become another person who’s left her.”

“I’m sorry,” Antonio told him, sadly, “Maybe, one day, she’ll come around,” he suggested. It may not have been his place, he didn’t know his daughter, but he couldn’t stand to see this man, a fellow father, hurting like this. And for doing something immoral, for his child. He could relate after all. 

Santos shrugged, “Maybe,”  _ Hopefully.  _

Antonio gave him a nod and got up to knock on the door, to let the guard know he was ready to go.

“Antonio,” Santos called shakily, as the door opened, “be there for the ones you love. That’s what matters.”

* * *

 

“Sergeant Voight.”

Hank’s blood boiled in his veins. He wanted to smack that stupid grin off the man’s face. How he could sit there, after everything he’d done, and laugh…

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He glared, “Detective Medrana’s body was recovered yesterday.”

Montgomery’s face turned cold and he leaned back into his chair.

“He was executed and dumped in the river.”

The other sergeant - former sergeant - stayed silent, his face blank.

“Really?” Hank asked in disbelief, “Nothing?” He leaned forward, “A man in your unit was killed, his family  _ lost a father _ , because you wanted a payday.

“As if that wasn’t enough,” Hank continued, voice rising, “you sold out my guy and almost cost him his life, too! You betrayed all of us, and what we stand for.”

The other man finally broke, “Who are you to lecture me? The great Hank Voight,” he sneered. “As if you’ve never gotten your hands dirty, been in bed with the scum of Chicago. We all know who you are.

“Twenty-eight years,” Montgomery shook his head, “Twenty-eight years, I served this city, tried to make the world a better place. But it just got worse. Not just out there, but in the very place we pinned badges to our chest and swore an oath to serve mankind. My job cost me everything, and I was left with nothing. It’s all for  _ nothing _ . So why not take something for myself for once.”

Hank stared at him in disbelief, “No. You think you’re the first cop who’s ever had doubts about the work we do; to lose your way? You think you’re the only one who has lost everything on the job? You’re not special, Montgomery. Nothing in this world is worth killing and betraying your own - others who felt just as lost as you, but kept fighting.”

Montgomery’s furious expression was still on his face, but what truly disturbed Hank was the absence of any remorse. The man was beyond redemption.

Shaking his head, Hank pushed up from his seat and went to bang on the door, “We’re done here.” 

He turned back to Montgomery one last time, “You’re going to rot here, in this prison. I’m gonna make sure of that.”

* * *

 

“Hey,” Antonio greeted, as he turned around to close the front door. While he turned to hang up his jacket, he realized Hank hadn’t said anything.

“Hank?” He asked, walking into the living room. The man in question was sitting on the couch, eyes on the bottle of beer he was twisting around on his knee. Antonio sat next to him, his side pressed against the back of the couch to face him fully, “Is everything okay?”

With a sigh, Hank finally spoke, “I went to see Montgomery.”

Concern filled Antonio at the thought of Hank having to face that low-life again, “What did he want?”

He was confused when Hank shook his head, “No, I wanted to talk to him.”

_ Oh,  _ that honestly surprised him, and he didn’t know what to say for a moment. “How did it go?” He wanted to smack himself the moment the question left his mouth. His partner’s behavior already told him it likely hadn’t gone well.

But, why had he gone? When there was no response, he decided to go in a different direction, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

At that, Hank shook his head. 

Antonio sighed, “I’m sorry,” he told him, sincerely, nudging Hank’s fingers lightly with his own.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Hank sighed, “I’ll never forgive him for,” he trailed off and looked over to him, “He doesn’t feel sorry for what he did. He doesn’t deserve any sympathy.”

Antonio nodded, trying to catch up, “What’s really bothering you?” 

Hank took a moment, then he asked, still deep in thought, “How does that happen? Everytime I see it, there’s always a small part of me that wonders, what separates me from them?”

_ So much  _ separated Hank from someone like Montgomery, Antonio didn’t know where to begin.

“We both know how easily everything can spiral out of control,” He started slowly, “But I think, at least for me, we remember why we do it and who we do it all for: family, the people of Chicago, someone we love. Or we need a kick in the ass back in the right direction,” he added with a shrug, because it was true. 

“ _ You,”  _ he continued, laying a hand atop Hank’s, “are a good man. You give your heart and soul to the job. You never lose sight of what’s important. And I love you, for that and so much more.”

Smiling, Antonio lifted Hank’s hand to place a kiss, then pushed himself up off the couch, “I’m gonna get started on some dinner.”

“Hey.”

He turned back at Hank’s call, curious.

Hank got up and stood right in front of him, taking holding his face in his hands, “Thank you, for always bringing me back. I love you.” And with that, Hank pulled him in for a kiss. 


End file.
